


In the Corner of My Heart There Is a Scar

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers, The Guns of Navarone (1961)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Cruising, Dick Winters makes a lot of bad decisions, Gay Bar, London, M/M, One Night Stands, Pining, Pretending Your Partner Is Someone Else, Unsafe Sex, Winters Has Got It Bad, World War II, background Winnix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Spyros just needs to get his mind off mission ahead, so he doesn't really care who makes him forget, or whom his one-night stand is pretending to be with.





	In the Corner of My Heart There Is a Scar

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen _Band of Brothers_ : Dick Winters is a junior officer in the paratroopers who has just gotten to England as part of the troop build up leading to the invasion of Normandy. He's decidedly straight laced, and seems to have a huge crush on his best friend. This fic takes place during the first episode, between arriving in England and the NCO mutiny.
> 
> If you haven't seen _The Guns of Navarone_ (1961): Spyros Pappadimos is a Greek partisan working with the SOE. He spent some time in the US ostensibly going to school and actually "getting the wrong kind of education," and hasn't been back to his home island or seen his family for ten years. This fic takes place just before the movie.
> 
> The bar they go into is lifted from [this tumblr post](http://stoatsandwich.tumblr.com/post/109223311286/the-ww2-gay-bar-under-the-ritz), and references in _One of the Boys: Homosexuality in the Military During World War II_ by Paul Jackson.
> 
> Title is from Anjela Duval's [Karantez-Vro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZH2yj3cdRIc). Thank you to mlraven for beta reading.

Spyros checked his reflection in a shop window, straightening his tie and tipping his hat to a more rakish angle. It was a good hat, sharp black with a navy band, and he'd be sorry to leave it when he flew out in the morning, more sorry still to leave the navy and black pinstripe suit that was finer than anything he'd been able to afford running numbers in Philadelphia. However, there was a war on. Maybe it'd still be here if he came back. Satisfied that he'd stand out in the sea of olive drab below, he winked at his own reflection and descended into the Grill Room below the Ritz Hotel.

It was the sort of bar that served a certain class of gentlemen, mostly of the officer persuasion, and entirely of the kind that varied between a little fruity and dedicated horticulturalists. Spyros knew from experience that he could pick up someone willing to fuck him up the ass in less time than it took to strangle a man, and he needed that. With the word coming down the pipeline, he was keyed up enough that he was going to have to do one or the other before he would sleep tonight, and an experienced-enough operator to know that he needed to sleep.

The doorman's eyes slid over Spyros's suit and he nodded him through, something else that wouldn't have happened in the dog days of Philly, after he'd gotten kicked out of prep school, before the war had saved him. Spyros knew enough to take it as his due, and walk through with the swagger of a man who'd never been turned out of a gentleman's club, or mistaken for a trick.

He passed a double row of sandbags shoring up the entrance, the bar's only nod to the Blitz, and out into the chandelier-lit, gilt-reflecting main room. A sextet played "Moonlight Becomes You;" as a press of uniformed men swayed against each other on the tiny dance floor and others watched from crowded tables. Spyros edged between them, ignoring the brush of bodies against his and the odd wandering hand. The bar was through another braced and sandbagged doorway, and Spyros wanted to knock back a shot or two before he went hunting proper.

Or maybe not. At the far end of the bar leaned what his pal Hughie would have called a tall drink of water, and from the way the man's eyes were flicking over everyone who came in, he had a similar goal in mind. Sypros made a matching assessment and came up with: tall, carrot-topped, lean-faced and watchful, but not afraid or out of place. A first lieutenant in the airborne, but one who hadn't yet been to war. He didn't have the hardness in his eyes of a killer; a college boy maybe, that Yankee ideal of the citizen soldier. Or he would be ideal, if he were in a different bar.

Spyros met his gaze. When he didn't look away, he swaggered up to the bar and said to the monkey-suited waiter, "I'll have what he's having." From the way the officer's mouth twitched, he'd said something funny, but he didn't realise what it was until he took a sip of his glass of lemonade. It wasn't even shandy. It was lemonade. "And a double of gin," Spyros added, and pushed a few coins across the bar. Lit up, the drink wasn't half bad. He raised it to the officer, who nodded. There was something self-possessed and confident about him, almost regal, that Spyros liked. He didn't mind a bit of swish, in its place, but angled more for rough trade, who'd fuck him with no questions asked as long as they went to his place. This was something else again, and he was curious to find out exactly what.

"Name's Steven," Spyros said.

"Dick," the officer replied. "You're American?" He was wondering about the lack of a uniform, probably. There weren't many Yanks in London without one.

Spyros shrugged. "I've been around."

Dick's eyes flicked up and down his body, studying his face for just a little too long. Spyros wondered if he was looking for something, but then Dick shrugged and let whatever it was pass. He took another sip of his lemonade before asking, "You come here often?"

It would have been such a line if anyone else had said it, but from Dick it was a genuine question, and instead of laughing and laying on the charm, Spyros answered honestly. "Sometimes. I ain't always in town." When Dick nodded, apparently adding that to his little file of knowledge either about Spyros or the Grill Room, Spyros asked, "What about you?"

"No," Dick said. "My first time." Though not, Spyros would guess, his first time in a place like this one. He was too comfortable to be scouting entirely-new terrain. "My regiment hasn't been in England long."

And wouldn't be here long, neither, if Spyros's understanding of the war was correct. Six months, at the most, and this man would be tumbling out of the sky with the German army trying to pick him off all the way down. Spyros wondered if he'd be this restrained then.

"You like London?" he asked.

It was meant as a light question to fill the space, to distract Dick and keep Spyros from talking about himself, but Dick frowned and thought it over before answering. "I'm not used to cities," he said. "My company's quartered out in the country, and it's familiar. I would stay there, with the men, except"—he glanced at his hands then up at Spyros, and gave that half-smile again, self-deprecating this time—"except a man can only stand wanting so long."

So he'd come into the great swirling maw of wartime London to disappear, and to get if not what he wanted, than something close enough to release the pressure, for a little while. Spyros wondered if Dick wanted a specific someone, or if it was a general need—a buzzing, itching urge that grew and grew until he found himself in a bar trying to find a stranger to fuck—a need like Spyros himself felt. He didn't ask. He wasn't here to make a friend. He just wanted to forget where he'd be flying in the morning, and who he'd have to meet there.

From the way Dick's expression softened for a moment, Spyros guessed that he sensed their accord, and didn't especially want to discuss it either. The band had switched to "Sentimental Lady," and Dick raised an eyebrow in question and glanced through to the dance floor.

For a moment, Spyros considered it, touching skin-to-skin for the first time, their hips brushing as his hand crept down the fitted angles of Dick's uniform towards his ass. On another night, he might have nodded and let himself be drawn out. Tonight, he shook his head and said, "I wasn't planning on staying that long."

Dick nodded and tipped back his glass of lemonade, finishing it in one long swallow. Spyros watched his throat bob and shifted his weight to cover the spike of hot lust it inspired. It wouldn't be long now. "Where to?" Dick asked as he set the glass down.

"I have a flat a couple of blocks away," Spyros answered. Technically it was the SOE's flat, but he'd always felt that bringing the odd date back lent plausibility to the address. He finished his own drink, the double hit of gin shimmering through him, just enough to take the edge off, and led the way out. Dick followed him, half a pace behind, hand warm on the small of Spyros's back once when they ran into a bottleneck at the door. Spyros's heart pounded in anticipation, and he had to take a breath to slow down. Keep this up, and he wasn't going to be able to make it home without a limp.

They walked the few blocks in silence, and Dick waited while Spyros fussed with his keys and led him up. It wasn't much of a flat, single room plus a bathroom, but it had a good bed and was only two flights up, so it suited Spyros well enough.

Spyros tossed his hat across the room and was already loosening his tie, but when they had the door closed, Dick put a hand over his and said, "Let me."

"Okay." Spyros let his hands drop. He usually wanted to just get enough clothes off to get to the point, but something in the intensity in Dick's expression, the warmth of his hands tipped him over. He stood and let Dick undo his tie, his long fingers sliding over the silk, then unbutton his top button. He lifted his chin and tried to breath past the intimacy of letting another man touch his throat. Dick's fingers lingered on the hollow under his Adam's apple, his expression fixed on Spyros's face, but seeming to look through him at the same time. He spread his hands and pushed off Spyros's jacket, catching it to lay aside, and then worked down his shirt buttons one-by-one, eyes not following his hands but studying Spyros's reactions as he moved. Spyros felt as though he were being memorised, or possibly mesmerised, and could hardly seem to breath, let alone move.

When Dick pushed his suspenders off, something clicked, and Spyros raised his hands to at least get Dick's jacket off before he found himself naked in front of a fully uniformed officer. Dick smiled and helped him shrug out of it. Then he slid his hands under Spyros's shirt and up his back, stepping in to kiss him.

The kiss was hot and hungry, claiming Spyros's mouth with eager lips and teeth, like Dick was pouring all those months of need into this one moment. His fingernails dug into Spyros's back, pulling their bodies together until Spyros could feel Dick's buttons down the centre of his chest, and Dick's cock hard through his pants. He pulled at Dick's shirt until he could work his hands under his belt and feel the strong muscles of his back just where it tapered into his waist. He moaned into the kiss, opening under it, letting Dick's tongue in. He hardly realised he was being steered back towards the bed until his knees hit it and they went down together.

Dick pulled his hands free and raked his fingers through Spyros's hair, but didn't stop kissing him. They were breathing together now, fast and hard, and Spyros couldn't hear past the sound of their lips meeting and Dick's pleased hums. He pulled away, hands still in Spyros's hair, and whispered, "You're perfect. What do you like?" He had his eyes closed.

There was such a carte blanche in his tone that Spyros almost hesitated. He could tell Dick to keep pretending that Spyros was the one he'd been wanting, and let him touch and kiss and love him all night. It would make for some warm memories to hold against winter on the Adriatic.

Spyros wiggled until he got Dick's fly open and his hand on Dick's cock. He didn't want to be made love to, or to be someone else's perfect. He'd fallen so long ago that he didn't even want to pretend any more. "Come on," he said, and squeezed just hard enough that Dick's eyes flew open and his hips jerked back. "I got Vaseline, but I ain't got all night."

"Right," Dick said, seeming to come back to himself. He knelt up on the bed and stripped out of his tie, suspenders and shirt in a few smooth movements. The freckles that covered his face carried down his arms and chest, and his nipples hardened in the chilly air. Spyros ran his hands up Dick's chest, liking the way his chest hair felt under his palms, liking more how Dick shivered at his touch.

Then Dick got to his feet and started working at his boots, while Spyros kicked his shoes across the room, shucked his pants and underwear and waited for Dick. He rested a hand on his own cock but didn't stroke, just relaxing into the feel of skin on skin as he watched Dick stand to finish stripping. He was all long, lean muscle; red hair striking against pale skin. He didn't have a single scar. How long would that last, Spyros wondered.

When he was naked save for his dog tags, Dick stood over the bed and ran his eyes down Spyros's body, gaze catching on the just healed slash across his shoulder, another scar that could have been an appendectomy if it weren't so jagged, and the pucker of a bullet hole in his upper thigh. Spyros could see the hesitation, the desire to ask, but Dick just said, "You said Vaseline?"

"Drawer," Spyros answered, pointing with his chin. Dick found it, and crawled onto the bed beside him. Despite what Spyros had said, he still leaned down and kissed him again, his tenderness striking against the hunger of the last kiss. This was the fond, familiar meeting of lovers' mouths, a kiss for passing in a hallway, like Spyros's parents had shared, like he knew he would never have. For just one moment, he closed his eyes and let himself be whoever it was Dick saw when he looked at him. Then he rolled on his stomach and spread his legs, lifting his hips in invitation. His cock hung hard and full, and he was already flushed with the excitement of waiting.

He let his head drop to the pillow and judged Dick's movements by the shift of the mattress. He wanted Dick to hurry, to feel the stretch and edge of pain of being taken just a little too hard and too fast, but he also found himself falling into the long moment of waiting and wondering what this new lover would be like.

Dick's hand dropped onto the back of his neck, massaging the place where his skull joined his spine, and Spyros groaned into the pillow. He almost sobbed when Dick rubbed both of his shoulders, hard and deep, his fingers digging into Spyros's knotted muscles. He tried to push back, to rub his hip against Dick's cock and make him hurry the fuck up, but Dick was kneeling too far back, and just ran his thumbs hard down either side of Spyros's spine, seeming to loosen a trail of knots as he went.

Spyros's head spun with pleasure and release, and Dick hadn't even put a hand below the belt. He arched his back under the touch and groaned again. If his cock wasn't so damn hard, he'd probably slump into the mattress, and fall asleep under Dick's strong hands. Or he would have, until Dick dug into the crease at the top of his hipbones and pressed so hard that his knees nearly gave out. He curled his fingers into the blankets under him, and again tried to push back against Dick, to find any purchase against the hands touching with such complacent intimacy. He shook his ass, and Dick's fingers dug in there too, following the lines of muscle down to the backs of his thighs, then back up between his legs. Spyros felt his legs shaking with anticipation and need, and tried to take deep even breaths and slow his heart like he would before making a shot, but he couldn't focus. His mind was wrapped up in wanting more, wanting those fingers to touch every part of him, harder.

"Ready?" Dick asked, tone just this side of mocking amusement. He was pleased that he could do this to Spyros, and Spyros couldn't find the words to object. He nodded against the pillow and tried not to cry out as Dick spread him wide.

There was a pause then, the rattle of the lid, and then a finger in his ass. Spyros pushed himself onto it until he went up to the knuckles, hoping that got the message across.

Dick laughed and said, "All right, all right," with the same fondness as the kiss. He hurried after that, but was generous with the Vaseline until Spyros could barely feel the fingers inside him. The bed shifted again, and Spyros took two deep breaths. He waited, Dick's hand on his hip holding them together, until he felt the cock against his ass. It didn't hurt as much as he liked, but Dick's Vaseline-covered hand curled around Spyros's cock as he started to push in, pulling long and slow as he filled Spyros.

Spyros whimpered into the pillow and tried to push back, to make it go faster, but Dick moved with him. He pulled out again and palmed Spyros's balls, filling his world with pleasure so scorching it almost hurt. He panted hard and tried not to scream when Dick drove in with more force and slide, and twisted his hold down to the base of his cock. Spyros felt like he was being held together and torn apart at the same time, the only constant the hand on his hip and the blankets fisted in his own grip. He spread his legs wider and hoped that was clear enough to begging to get more.

Behind him he could hear Dick starting to breathe harder, but his movements were still steady and even. Spyros wondered if he was human, but then he heard Dick's breath catch at the end of a thrust and heard him whisper, "Oh, please, please." He didn't say a name, but Spyros knew he wasn't quite there, and he again wished he could be the kind of man someone like Dick would lose his heart over. A good man, he thought; one who wasn't about to prove himself an endless disappointment.

"Hurry up, dammit," Spyros muttered. He squeezed down on Dick the next time he drove into him, making that spot inside of him spark, Dick's hand tighten on his cock, and most satisfyingly, Dick cry out hoarsely. He relaxed as Dick's hand closed hard on his hip and their bodies slapped together. He was so close, but the slick hand on his cock had stopped moving as Dick's concentration shattered. Spyros wanted that touch back and somehow got his own hand down to cover Dick's, twining their fingers together, and stroking, pulling, squeezing until Spyros's world went white and he slumped forward into the pillow. He stopped breathing, he thought, or maybe died, from the waves of euphoria and relief rolling through him.

He felt, vaguely, Dick going stiff behind him, and a small, pleading cry. If there was a name in that cry, it wasn't the one Spyros had given.

They fell over together, Dick still inside him, his arms coming up to wrap around Spyros's middle and pull their bodies together. He kissed the back of Spyros's neck and his shoulder where the scar was, then rested his forehead on Spyros's hair until they’d both caught their breath.

"Thank you, Steven," Dick said finally, and Spyros didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't. He let himself be held for a few moments more, then he rolled out of Dick's hold and onto his feet. His legs were weak under him, but he knew that if he didn't move soon, he'd want to stay all night and just be held, and he couldn't let himself be that weak.

When he came back from the bathroom with a couple wet cloths, Dick was sitting up, organising the pieces of his uniform. He smiled in thanks at the cloth and, unlike half the other men Spyros had brought here, didn't have trouble looking him in the eye.

"Will I see you again?" Dick asked. "I could get another pass in a few months, if you wanted to..."

Spyros shook his head. "I'm leaving town in the morning. I don't think I'll be back."

"Can you say where you're going?" Dick asked, though they both knew that questions like that led to sinking ships.

"Home," Spyros answered, despite himself. "I'm going home."


End file.
